I'm In Love With Judas
by A Girl In NYC
Summary: I was in a relationship with Timothy Howard before he was Monsignor at Briarcliff. When I was declared insane years later, we were reunited. No matter how different the two of us ended up being, and no matter how disturbing the consequences. Monsignor Howard/OC. OneShot.


_Dominique _played loudly on the record player in the common room of Briarcliff Asylum.

I exhaled and ran a hand down my face, tired. I sat alone on one of the burgundy loveseats, watching the helpless inmates babble to themselves, creep around, and act utterly insane. The sleepless nights I had been having lately were taking a toll on me, beginning to make my young face haggard and exhausted. I ran my hand through my hair, brushing the blond bangs out of my face. At thirty, I shouldn't look so tired. I was emaciated and lean-looking to begin with, but the shit that they fed you at Briarcliff was rank and putrid. Slop with a piece of bread, and nothing more. Unless you counted the little pills in the plastic cups that they gave you, which I always pretended to swallow. I suspected that the pills would make you delusional, so I hid them under my tongue.

Except for this morning, when I had thrown a bit of a fit about my medication.

I watched the patients in the room, utterly insane. Out of their minds. I sat there, sane amid them. I didn't belong here. I know that's what any insane person would say, but it's quite true. I had been in Briarcliff for four months now, and no matter what I did I had been subjected to electroshock and hydrotherapy. I was so tired, so saddened. I felt beaten, like I would never see the daylight again, that I would never smell the fresh air of the outside world.

I knew I wasn't insane. I was admitted to Briarcliff after stabbing my boyfriend. But what do you do when a man beats you then rapes you, and calls you a prostitute wench or a slut? Do you just stand there and take it? No, I wouldn't let that happen. I defended myself against him, and I killed him. The judge ruled me insane after I was set in court, based on one man's opinion.

Monsignor Timothy Howard.

_Dominique, nique, nique_  
_S'en allait tout simplement_  
_Routier pauvre et chantant_  
_En tous chemins, en tous lieux_  
_Il ne parle que du bon Dieu_  
_Il ne parle que du bon Dieu..._

The creepy yet unassuming French song throbbed in my ears, and I felt in that minute that I would go out of my mind listening to the God forsaken song. It played over and over in the common room, like a never-ending broken record. I put my face in my hands, my elbows resting on my boney kneecaps as I sat there.

Before entering the priesthood, I had dated him for two years. I'd never been happier in my life than with him, him being the quiet and calming man that he was. I really believed that we were soul mates, that we were supposed to be together. The age gap of twelve years between us had always been taboo with my family, and with the age gap came disagreements between us.

Timothy acted like a parent at times because he was twelve years my senior, and I didn't like it. We would disagree and he would pin it on me, act like it was my fault constantly. I didn't like his sense of entitlement in the relationship and the dominance he had. I told him that I didn't like being treated like a child, and he would just roll his eyes and say I was talking like I was mad. As our relationship deepened emotionally and we became more intimate, the arguments worsened. Eventually, we had a huge fight and our relationship died. I moved out from our apartment in Boston and so did he, and I hadn't heard from him since. He knew that I was young for him and that I loved him, but I just couldn't be with him anymore if our relationship was strained like that.

A few years later, he ended up in the priesthood and was a monsignor.

When I was convicted in court of the stabbing of the boyfriend after Timothy, the judge ruled that I be sentenced to Briarcliff Asylum. Timothy was now head of the asylum, and he was brought in, given that we had a history and he was the head of Briarcliff. It was the perfect, most sinister setup.

He looked me dead in the eyes, and assured the judge that Briarcliff was the institution that I should be in. I stared back at him in pure horror, not believing that he would do this to me. Court was adjourned, and in the next week I was dragged to the Massachusetts mental institution. And here I would stay.

He was a lying, conniving bastard who had this facade of a calm, quiet and well-respected monsignor who was proper and sane. He walked around like a saint, so at peace with himself and everyone around him. I knew the real him.

He was a liar, sentencing me to Briarcliff in revenge of the terrible ending of the relationship that we had. Everyone in Briarcliff knew my story with him, and it was pretty humiliating for me that everyone knew that somebody I used to know and love threw me into a mental institution and was now in charge of me. Then again, this was Briarcliff. People around here had much more to be embarrassed about. Sister Mary Eunice always harassed me about my history with him, her sinister grin on her face when she would brag about him and rubbing it it.

I heard footsteps coming towards me, and I uncupped my hands over my face. I sat up, and instantly I knew it was him. I recognized the way he walked. He knew me better than anyone and I knew him better than anyone. There was no fooling me, or me fooling him.

"Sasha," He said, "It's been brought to my attention that you made a big scene this morning, and that you didn't take your medication. Care to explain?"

His voice was so soothing, so calm. Sophsticated and eloquent.

I looked away from him, "I'm not insane, and you know that I'm not. I won't take drugs that will make me that way."

"You need to take medication. You're a patient here, and you will do what's required." He said, a bit of annoyance in his voice, "Look at me when I talk to you."

I turned and glared at him.

He looked at me knowingly, "Don't blame me for your sins, Sasha. I didn't put you here, you did it yourself."

I gave him a death stare, my eyes narrowed, "You're not serious."

"In fact, I am." He said, and looked at me indifferently.

I bit my lip, trying to fathom how this man, the man I was once deeply and hopelessly in love with, was doing this to me. Making my life a living hell, subjecting me to this horrible asylum and all it's creepy, terrifying attributes. I remembered Timothy standing there over me, watching while Dr. Arden administered shock therapy, with a hesitant yet reserved look on his handsome face. When he gave the judge his opinion on my mental state, the satisfied look on his face.

I stood up instantly, standing face-to-face with him. His height of six foot towered over my five foot seven. I glared up at him, "You're a liar."

_Il ne parle que du bon Dieu_  
_Il ne parle que du bon Dieu_

_Ni chameau_  
_Ni diligence il parcout l'Europe a pied_  
_Scandinavie ou Provence_  
_Dans la sainte pauvrete..._

Timothy looked at me sympathetically, his eyebrows knitted together in mock worry, "Are those delusions from lack of medication?"

I stared at him, my body almost trembling in anger, "You're a conniving bastard. You know that I'm not insane and that I don't need medication! You're the delusional one here, not me. You sentenced me here, you're the one who let everyone know that I was this insane patient when I'm _not_! So don't go treating me like a child and saying that I need to take my goddamn medication, because God knows I don't."

Our heated conversation was getting attention. Two nuns by the door were staring, and so were a few of the patients. Timothy looked at me, annoyed. His eyes searching mine, and he said, "Let's have this conversation in my office, shall we?"

He grabbed me by the back of my neck and practically dragged me out of the room, down the dark corridors of the asylum.

"Don't belittle me like that in front of everyone. You always do that." He hissed, opening the door to his office and pushing me in. He came in after me, slamming the door of his office behind him. He looked at me in the dark office, the fire in the fireplace cackling and illuminating his handsome face. He glared at me, waiting for my answer.

"Belittle _you_?" I snapped, "And you never do that to me?"

He stared at me, and walked past me to his desk. He leaned his back against the front of it, facing me. I stared at him with hate and contempt, not recognizing this man that had betrayed me and thrown me in this hell hole.

"You're a patient here. You won't talk to me that way again." He said calmly, but it was more like a command, "Don't make a fool out of me."

"You act like your the most powerful person in the world, Timothy." I snapped at him, "And you always have. But you're not in control. You're not what everyone sees. You're a impure, dirty bastard. You're impure and sneaky. Everyone sees a well-respected man of the church running this place and they are so wrong. It's pathetic."

He lit a cigarette and inhaled, then blew a streak of smoke out. "Everyone sees that because I _am _a respected man. And I am no sinner."

"You've never sinned?" I said, narrowing my eyes at him, "You've never lied? You've never had impure thoughts?"

He looked up at me.

"You've never betrayed anybody?" I hissed at him, "You stood there and watched when I had electroshock therapy and hydrotherapy, you sadistic—"

"Don't pin this all on me. I'm not the sinner right now." He interrupted, stubbing out his cigarette and staring at me, "_Everyone_ sins."

"Then see? You are a sinner. You _are_ a liar." I snapped, coming closer to him, "You aren't as pure as you think you are, _Monsignor_."

I said the word mockingly, and he looked annoyed at that.

He didn't look at me, "Don't say that."

"You remember the first time we had sex, don't you?" I snapped at him, pressuring him, "It was so right. It was like nothing else mattered. I was so in love with you. I thought that I had finally done something right in my life. You were just so perfect. So calm and collected and gentle. You made me feel so good about myself and stable and just...I loved you, Timothy. And then you do this to me in return."

He looked up at me, a guilty look on his face, "That was a long time ago."

"It wasn't that long ago." I snapped in reply, the two of us standing face-to-face, "Don't try to pretend that we never fucked and that what we had together never happened. I know that's what you make people believe."

"Stop it, Sasha." He said calmly, but there was irritation in his voice.

"What? Are you embarrassed that everyone knows that you, the big hot-shot in the church had a relationship with a _psycho_ patient at Briarcliff?" I said, tears brimming my red-rimmed eyes.

"_Stop_." He said a bit more firmly, a bit louder.

"You're just mad that I've figured you out," I snapped at him, "That you dragged me to this hell and that this whole thing is corrupt. Electroshock therapy? Arden's Nazi accusations? You've got to be out of your mind if you think I didn't notice!"

"Shut your_ filthy_ mouth!" He shouted at me.

I nodded at him sarcastically, narrowing my eyes at him, "You damned fool. You're just afraid to hear the truth, because you're so used to lying. You did this to yourself, _and_ to me. When Briarcliff goes spiraling down the drain, you will right along with it. And you know it."

We were close, and I reached out and slinked my hand down his arm, taking his hand in mine. He flinched under my unexpected touch, but he didn't shake off my hand. I came closer to him, almost pressing my body to him. I bit my lip, and looked up at his hesitant expression, "Do you ever miss what we were? Or are you that humiliated?"

"You know that I do." He said quietly, almost defeated. He was watching me as I took his hand and placed it on the right side of my chest, so that he was palming the side of my breast. I looked up at him with my teary eyes. I reached up, my lips inches from his. He leaned in to press his mouth to mine, but he hesitated.

"...I made a vow." He said quietly, "I...I can't."

I looked up at him, "You said you loved me and that we would stay together. Did you keep _that_ vow?"

His eyes searched mine, but he didn't respond to my question. His hand remained on the side of my breast.

"Why keep this one?" I said, and pressed my mouth to his.

He put his hands on my hips, kissing me deeply with the passion that we had before. I pressed his body to mine, and the kiss became more aggressive. I broke away and slipped off my underwear quickly from under my blue-gray patient dress. I smirked up at him. He looked at me hesitantly.

"I can't, Sasha." He repeated, brushing a strand of blond hair out of my eyes, "I...I swore I wouldn't."

I reached to him, grabbing his wrist, and putting his hand between my legs. I gasped at his touch, and I said, "Remember the way we used to be."

He didn't remove his hand. He breathed out unevenly, his hand trembling as it rested between my legs, "Sasha..."

"You swore you loved me. So keep _that_ promise." I said, looking at him, the firelight across his face.

He looked at me, hesitant, but then took his hand from between his legs and unbuckled his own pants. I leaned into him and kissed him, deepening the kiss and pretending that we were the way we used to be. He pressed me against his desk, holding my hips to him, my legs wrapped around him. He went into me and I gasped, holding onto his back, digging my nails into him as he rested his chin on my left shoulder. I felt the muscles in his back contract under my hand as he came into me. I moaned when he worked into me, my dressed bunched up around my hips. He looked down at me and I looked back up at him. Our breathing was heavy. I pressed my mouth to his, and he kissed back.

The highly respected, proper Monsignor Timothy Howard and the patient ex of his. He knew I loved him.

As we laid there on his desk together, it really hit me. He wasn't the same man, the man that I looked up to and was in love with. He was a changed man. He betrayed me, he was a liar, and he was up to something suspicious and sinister.

It was like I was in love with Judas.


End file.
